


Distance

by hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)



Series: Holly's Hobbit Birthday Fics 2020 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hollyandvice
Summary: Steve shuts down. There's no other word for it; he shuts down. Jaw locked, eyes unfocused, fists clenched. There's nothing left for him in this world except what he'd scrimped and saved for, and now-- now he doesn't even have that.Written for betheflame's prompt: steve is just home from his fourth tour in afghanistan and has lost everyone and everything. his mom died while he was deployed, his best friend was KIA. and now, all the money he had went to buying a truck that has now broken down in the middle of absolutely nowhere New York State and the only mechanic around is this smartass loudmouth bother
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Holly's Hobbit Birthday Fics 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668586
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	Distance

Steve shuts down. There's no other word for it; he shuts down. Jaw locked, eyes unfocused, fists clenched. There's nothing left for him in this world except what he'd scrimped and saved for, and now-- now he doesn't even have that. _Won't_ have that for much longer if this asshole has his way about it. Blood is pounding in his ears, roaring to deafening levels, and Steve knows there's nothing he can do to stave off the impending panic attack.

Because that's what it is at this point. A fucking panic attack.

He flinches away from the too-gentle hands that come to rest at his elbow and the small of his back. The hands pull away, and a voice takes their place. "Just gonna help you sit down, buddy. Not gonna do anything more than that, okay? Just gonna help you sit down."

Steve clenches his eyes shut and nods. Some part of him knows exactly what that voice is, knows exactly what's happening, but the rest of him refuses to acknowledge that the same asshole that had just been needling him about his car choices is now guiding him across the shop to sit down in one of the most uncomfortable chairs Steve has ever had the displeasure to sit in. And that's saying something.

A laugh startles its way out of his chest, sudden and unnerving, and nothing at all like the laugh he's used to. The man in front of him seems startled as well, if the way his hands twitch is any indication. "Ooookay, then. I'm going to assume that that's a bad sign."

Steve laughs again, planting his face into his hands as the laughter bubbles up, hysterical and unending in that way that only panic can yield. The hands stutter again, but don't leave him, pressing gently against his skin as though to anchor him. Steve knows what this is, knows what the man's trying to do, and some part of him desperately wants to know how some idiot mechanic out in the middle of nowhere learned how to deal with panic attacks.

He doesn't ask, though. Can't, through the way his breath is getting shorter and shorter with every passing moment.

"Gonna need you to breathe for me, buddy," the man says. He grabs one of Steve's hands and presses it against his own chest. Steve blinks, leaning in against the warmth of the man's skin under his hand. "That's it. Now come on. In and out." The man's chest rises and falls under Steve's fingers, slow and steady in that way that Bucky always used to--

"No, that's the opposite of what we want, man. Come on. Just breathe."

Steve blinks away thoughts of Bucky -- the blood and the pain and the screams, god, so much _screaming_ \-- and tries to focus again on the movement beneath his fingers. In and out, just like he'd said. In and out. It takes the better part of eight tries for Steve to get his breath to match the mechanic's, but by the time he does, he's feeling a lot more human than he has in a long time. Maybe since before his last tour.

Steve blinks a few more times, trying to regain his center of balance. The man starts to release Steve's hand, but Steve winds their fingers together, clinging ot him like a lifeline.

"Just gonna go get you some water, buddy. Unless you want to wait a little longer?"

Steve thinks he didn't mean for it to sound so much like a question. He tightens his fingers on the man's hand for a moment longer before releasing them. He gives the mechanic as reassuring a smile as he can. He must not do a very good job if the man's face is anything to go by.

"Just give me fifteen seconds. Ten. I'll be right back."

Steve nods again, placing his still-warm palm against his own chest to try to keep his focus on his own breathing. It's not the same as having someone there to help him, but it's a damn sight better than spiraling back into a panic attack. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. In for four, hold for four. Out for four.

Either he's counting too fast or the man took longer than he said he would, because Steve's just about to start his third round when a plastic cup appears in front of him. "Here."

Steve reaches out, but his hand is shaking so hard that he's worried about spilling. He clenches his fist and starts to pull away, but the man reaches out and curls Steve's fingers around the cup.

"Plenty more where that came from. Drink."

Steve does end up spilling over the back of his hand, but he tries not to think too hard about it. He resists the urge to down the whole thing in one go, taking small sips as he tries to regain his center.

"There you go," the mechanic says, voice low and easy. "There you go."

Steve shakes his head. He isn't here to be coddled. "The truck?"

The man scoffs from where he's sitting on the ground in front of Steve. "Like that's what I'm worried about right now."

"Please," Steve manages, and then the rest of the words get locked behind his throat, closed up and desperate where it tightens around any other words.

The man's face twists, then goes soft. "Alright. The truck." He gets to his feet slowly, telegraphing ever motion, and something in the back of Steve's had wonders who he knows that's in the service. He doesn't ask, though. No reason to pull at old wounds. "You know anything about cars?" he asks.

Steve laughs. It's a little less hysterical this time. "Not a damn thing."

The man's smile is small and awkward. "Alright, well. I'm gonna talk you through everything I'm doing. I may be a jackass, but I'm the best at what I do."

Steve opens his mouth to thank him, but what comes out is anything but a thank you. "Don't need the best. Just need adequate."

The man laughs. "Yeah, well, you're getting the best whether you like it or not."

"How much is that gonna cost me?"

The man hesitates. "Dinner with me?"

Steve blinks. "What?"

The man winces. "Yeah, I uh. I could have done that more effectively. Sorry. Forget I said anything." He turns away and gets back under the truck, keeping up a live commentary on everything he's doing even though Steve doesn't understand any of it. Partly because he doesn't know a damn thing about cars, but partly... partly because he's still rolling the offer over in his head.

The guy's a dick, but he clearly _knows_ he's a dick, and knows how to handle someone that needs the help like Steve does. What could it hurt, taking him up on his offer?

"Why do you work out in the middle of nowhere if you're so good at what you do?"

The man stops talking mid-sentence at Steve's words. Steve hears the thunk of metal on concrete and holds back a flinch. "Out here is where people need the best. There's plenty of people in the city that can take care of whatever you need, plenty of people that specialize in anything and everything. Out here, you need someone that knows their way around everything. If you want to stay on top of your game, wanna be the best mechanic in the country, wanna keep your skills sharp, the boonies are where it's at. Gotta be able to do everything out here."

Steve hums, and the man goes back to his running commentary when it's clear that Steve's not going to ask him another question. Steve tunes out the words themselves but lets the sound of his voice flow over him steady and easy as anything. It's why he's taken aback when the man's getting to his feet and rubbing his hands on a cloth as he approaches Steve. "Got her all tuned up for you. Should run like a dream. You ever need anything else, you know where to find me."

Steve nods, getting to his feet, grateful when his knees aren't shaking. "What do I owe you?"

He winces. "No charge."

"What? But I--"

He shakes his head. "I gave you a panic attack and that was the most fun I've had on a truck in awhile. You clearly do what you can to take care of her, but she just needed a little extra bit of love."

Steve blinks, trying to understand how this man is the same one that had sassed him when he'd come in not three hours ago. He stands up and, against his better judgment, says "So you mean that dinner offer's off the table?"

The man blinks at him. "Come again?"

Steve's spent his whole life trying to be brave. This is no exception. "Dinner? My treat?"

He shakes his head. "Make it my treat, and you've got a deal."

Steve relaxes. "Just one thing first."

"What's that?"

"You're going to have to remind me your name."

Years later, when Steve's moved out into the boonies to be closer to him all the time, Steve will look back and say that the way Tony had laughed at him was the thing that did him in. "Tony," he'd said through the chuckles. "My name's Tony."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for betheflame as a part of my hobbit birthday. Unbeta'ed. Enjoy, my dear!


End file.
